Snippet #1879649

[Since we have gathered enough characters, I've updated the dorms. Go to the dorm thread to see who you'll be living with. If you have a problem with the setup, please post to me or Camillo and we'll get it fixed to where you feel content. :) Also, the teachers will be controlled by Camillo or me until they are asked to be claimed.]

A young boy, seemingly the age 16, trailed around the academy with his heels bucking the ground, creating "clack clack" sounds whenever they hit. A puffin sat stationary on his head, resting on the boy as if he was a pillow in a way. "Hmn," he huffed bluntly. "puffin, I wonder if there are others arriving soon. I'm quite an early bird," he said, not recognizing his pun. The puffin simply and carelessly looked down at the boy's eyes, ruffled it's wings, then brought it's head up to close it's eyes and relax again.

"Ah, I see," he murmured. "Why are we even in America? I should be back at Reykjavik, relaxing in a hot spring, and drinking tea. Heimskur, I say." Iceland complained, though not in a whiny tone or a pouting one, but as cold as ice. Get my pun? Cold as ice?

Crossing his arms, he leaned against a pole and silently watched the cherry blossoms dance in the faint wind. "At least it seems elegant here in some way," he muttered. "Maybe I should practice bow and arrow in the mean time. I signed up for that, besides." Snatching his bag from off his shoulder, the name iceland was printed on the front of the bag, and on the back there was scribble scrabble in blue marker from a drunk Denmark whom decided to draw all over the back of his bag, which ticked him off slightly, though as usual he kept his cool.

Inside, a light blue, fairly medium-sized bow sat stationary as if waiting. He wrapped a gloved hand around the handle and pried it out of the substitute back pack and got into a stance and pointed it at a tree. "Sorry. It should not hurt you." Emil reassured the tree, as he squatted down and grabbed a couple of arrows to practice with. He grabbed the arrows' shafts, particularly, and put the rest down and held one in his hand. He pressed against the string and pulled back with the arrow nock, and soon fired, the tip of the arrow going into a cherry blossom petal and pinning it against the tree.

"I think I say 'bull's eye' when I shoot in the middle." He contemplated blankly.